


Voilà!

by llgf



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Basically, But also, Caroline loves food, Chefs, F/M, Food, Klaus makes food, Self-Discovery, reposting my work here, they fall in love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 04:13:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15428763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/llgf/pseuds/llgf
Summary: Dolly Parton used to say "My weaknesses have always been food and men—in that order" and that's something Dolly Parton and Caroline Forbes have in common. Crème brulée is her weakness, but the man behind it might be her demise.





	1. l'appéritif

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction was on ff.net before and to make myself write the _last_ part, I decided to post it here. Thanks to garglyswoof for beta'ing

 

Caroline's passion for food started when she was six years old, her snoring father next to her. She was curled at his side, her eyes transfixed on the melting cheese. An Italian chef taught how to make real carbonara pasta, his voice, thick with accent, only fueling her imagination with good pizzas, cheese and mouthwatering pasta. She had begged her father to try the recipe.

Alas, he left them for Steven 3 months later. But that's another story.

Caroline didn't pursue her cooking career, realizing she was way better at eating than actually cooking anything. She loved to cook, but she never could go beyond the recipe – call her a control freak – hence why she always was looking for novelties.

Years later, she became an event planner, and now she has multiple contacts among the best caterers of New York.

She met Tyler. Good looking American boy with a passion for the Bourse, stockholders, and money in general. Not cooking, unfortunately.

Caroline hated to be dragged to his business meetings. She hated to hear him talk about whatever company, scandal or CEO held his interest at the moment. It was incredibly boring to her and she was ready to tell him she didn't feel well to avoid another uninteresting dinner with Mr. Saltzman when he told her he had a reservation at The Original.

 _The Original_ aka the fanciest and most popular restaurant right now in New York.

Her favorite. She drooled every time she passed in front of it in her way to work, already smelling the delightful recipes prepared in the kitchen. She went there as many times as she could, for a quick salad at lunch, or their spicy Loup for dinner.

Thankfully she planned the maître d's wedding, otherwise she'd still be on the waiting list.

And she would have missed her favorite dessert. Crème brulee, with French Vanilla.

How to explain? How the caramel cracks under the spoon, and how tender the crème is underneath?

She suddenly felt a deep interest in stockholders and Wall Street.

* * *

Alaric Saltzman and his wife never held her interest. They were nice people, but boring as they were only interested by the future of the economy and the last baseball game. Still, they were nice. Though Caroline knew, as soon as Tyler started talking about the Eagles, that she would end up staying in her corner as the trophy girlfriend. She hated that, the feeling of being some sort of prize Tyler Lockwood could show around. But she complied because he was a nice guy, a bit self-centered, maybe, but she couldn't deny that she had feelings for him. He was good to her, they'd been together for a long time now. Her fear of being alone started this relationship, when she was the popular cheerleader who couldn't stand the idea of being single, and it had turned into a good, stable, union between the two of them that felt a little past its shelf-life. Stale…

Jenna was a lovely person, sweet and smiling, though Caroline could only hear once the story of how her daughter had lost her first tooth, and what the tooth fairy brought her. Caroline was quickly bored.

So she read the menu, over and over to decide while sipping her cocktail – sex on the beach - she had just wanted to see Tyler's face when she ordered that one.

Blablabla, stock exchange, economy, blablabla, Nina's tooth, blablabla.

Caroline loved to discuss and talk, for sure, but she didn't have the patience or even the desire to try to fit into the conversation. Especially when Tyler's face distorted every time she expressed her opinion (Republican vs. Democrats, the everlasting debate), like an implicit 'be-pretty-and-don't-talk' that she absolutely loathed.

When they started talking about the effect of Obamacare on the American economy, and Caroline thought about planting the silver fork in her carotid, a waitress dressed professionally in black and hair tied in a perfect bun arrived at their table to take their orders.

Of course, Tyler picked the same dish as always, Cajun chicken, earning an eyeroll from Caroline.

She always chose different dishes, life is about discoveries, right?

Caroline hadn't had the chance to live in a wealthy family, her taste for gastronomy asserting with age and a certain financial independence. She discovered the joy of good cuisine when she was able to pay for it, when she was able to afford an expensive but delicious dinner.

Unlike Tyler whose boredom accentuated with his family's wealth.

It was her turn to order, finally.

"So, I am going to take the tartare of scallops as starter", Caroline took a last look at the menu and finally asked, "and what is the chef's recommendation?"

"As a main course, we can recommend the chef's special soufflé or the saddle of lamb rubbed with garlic and cumin with yogurt sauce, accompanied with a Provencal tian."

"I am going to take the lamb. Thanks."

As Caroline gave the server a smile, Tyler turned his head with a lifted eyebrow, silently reprimanding her for ordering that much food, when a  _good_ trophy girlfriend would be satisfied with a light salad. She rolled her eyes even harder and he huffed, annoyed by her manners, or her lack of. Well, sorry for not being born with a golden spoon up her ass.

* * *

The dessert.

It's the last bite of the night, the moment when you know if you had a good time or not.

After an amazing starter, lemony fresh scallops on a bed of tomatoes, and a delicious main course with a perfectly cooked lamb, she could finally eat her favorite dessert.

The Original's crème brulee, with French vanilla.

She licked her lips as she prepared her ritual – like a tradition.

She grabbed the spoon, and cracked the caramel with the back of it, creating brown icebergs on a sea of vanilla cream, lifeless pieces of wood on the creamy sand or whatever metaphor you want, it's the ritual.

A spoon of vanilla cream with bits of caramel, the caramel contrasted by the fondness of the cream, and Caroline's a goner.

How could you love a dessert this much?

She doesn't remember, but she thinks she might have moaned at some point when she noticed the Saltzman's and Tyler's eyes on her.

"What?"

But she didn't care. She could kill for this.

She had stopped paying attention to the discussion, she just kept sipping wine and eating bread (delicious homemade bread) and looking at the other customers and their orders. There was a couple next to them sharing their food and Caroline couldn't help but blush in front of such a cute display of affection – even if she hated sharing her own food.

She was happy to be able to live this kind of moment, the temporary happiness when you dip into a vanilla cream and the caramel crunch under your teeth.

She made sure there was nothing left.

A last cup of coffee, and it was time to leave as they were one of the few tables still present.

Caroline took a deep breath outside, rubbing her belly almost theatrically as her stomach was deliciously full.

"What about a last drink, Lockwood?" Alaric Saltzman asked, an arm on his shoulder. His wife had already left to go back to their children.

"I am not sure…" Tyler hesitated, looking at her.

Caroline smiled slyly, "Go ahead, Tyler, I am going to take a cab and head home." She was not in the mood to be the third wheel to whatever might happen between the two of them, and she was sure Alaric wanted a woman-less date anyway.

"See, your girl agrees, let's go!" Alaric stated, clearly already tipsy.

"You sure?"

"Sure," she answered with a smile.

Tyler and Alaric left, the latter staggering and the former giving her one last look.

She gave him one last smile before waving at him.

Caroline let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. It was always like that on his business dates. Boring, but great food.

She turned around to look at The Original restaurant façade as the lights started to fade.

She'd tried to make the same crème brulee. In vain. Whoever did it had a gift or something. Or a very well-kept secret.

She raised her hand to capture a taxi driver's attention, but halfway in its upwards course her hand hit something hard and complaining –

"Bloody hell!" A grunt voice complained.

It hadn't been a great day for him. First, his cook responsible for desserts was sick, second of all, his sister harassed him to accompany her to whatever popular event in town, and last but not least, he had woken up with a filthy hangover.

He needed fresh air after a difficult night, not a bleeding nose.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry," Caroline exclaimed, looking at the man bent double, his hand on his nose, "Ok, it's bleeding," Caroline states, with a hint of panic in her voice. She must have hit him with her ring because it was seriously flowing down his chin.

"You don't say?" his muffled voice annoyed and his eyes angry, his fingers patting on his nostrils, like it could somehow stop the bleeding.

"Well, we should clean this up."

He wanted to spit something back, but he only groaned in complaint at the way her voice crackled. He could say that he could take care of himself, but she seemed so determined to make amends. He looked up at her, at her mortified features. She was quite adorable.

Caroline stayed calm as she took his arm and brought him to The Original's doors. "Can I use the bathroom?" she asked the doorman, who nodded as soon as he noticed the bleeding nose and the groaning man.

She patted a wet cloth on his nose, making sure to not hurt him, "Come on, you're a big boy," she tried to joke, earning a complaining groan from him, "I am sorry."

"You already said that, love," he answered, it was not such a big deal, and he felt emasculated enough.

Caroline rolled her eyes at his lack of politeness. She was simply trying to help and fix her mistake, so she kept cleaning his nose – a little more harshly. "All done."

She threw the cloth in the trash and cleaned her hand, smiling at his small "thanks, sweetheart."

"It's Caroline."

"What?"

"My name is Caroline."

The man looked at her, his eyes narrowing. "Caroline," he repeated.

 _Caroline_. It suited her. Blonde hair, blue eyes, but a name a bit sharp on the edges. Klaus studied her face, like he could find out more from it now that he knew her name.

She took the time to ogle him back, ruffled hair, stubble, and dimples. Ok, this man was gorgeous. And he wore a white uniform. "You work here?"

Her face was familiar, now that he looked closer. He remembered seeing her when he was watching the patrons through the small window of the kitchen doors. There was nothing more fulfilling than detailing their expressions, and she had some of the most precious.

This Caroline was a hedonist, trying to find every pleasure life could give, if the way she closed her eyes when she took a bite was anything to go by. Like she could make each moment linger, or at least make it more personal.

He studied her with a faint frown, his eyes settling on hers, like he was searching for something. He seemed to find it as he gave a sudden smirk and stood up. He slowly outstretched his hand for her to take. "Let me show you something, Caroline."

He raised his eyebrows, as if he challenged her. Caroline looked at his hand – roughened by years of work it seemed – and then at him with suspicious small eyes.

"We're not leaving the place," he tried to reassure her, "I am not a serial killer."

"In that case." Caroline responded with a laugh and took his hand.

Klaus smiled when she wrapped her hand in his. He was right. She was a hedonist.

Her hand was so small in his, and so soft. But what amazed her was the warmth from it, like bread coming out of the oven.

He pushed the door to let her enter, and her eyes widened, taking it all in, her mouth dropping at the gigantic kitchen. Immaculate, chromed, neat and clean.

"I am not sure I am allowed to be here," she said, the end of her sentence sounding like a question.

He took her hand once again and led her to the back of the kitchen. "The boss won't say a thing, love."

Caroline wanted to add that her actual name was Caroline (again) but was too absorbed by the clarity of the place where her favorite dishes were created, so she restrained herself.

The man looked at her when she squeezed his hand unconsciously.

"Sit here, sweetheart."

"You're quite bossy," she joked.

He smirked. Yes he was. That was required in his job.

Caroline obeyed anyway, thinking that if he wanted to kill her, he would have done it already. She sat herself up on the kitchen counter.

The Brit took a step near her to stand between her legs. Caroline could feel her body heating up, cursing herself in a vague attempt to remember she actually had a boyfriend and this man was still a stranger. But her body heat took a drastic turn when he covered her eyes with a cloth.

"What..."

"Don't worry, love."

She'd closed her eyes when she was eating, and he knew that when one of your sense is shut off, the others are highlighted.

She heard a faint sound of a door opening, something gliding and the door closed once again.

But blind, what she was the most aware of was the smell. It enveloped her in delight and she couldn't restrain a light moan when the delicate perfume came to her nostrils. The smell of something just coming out of the oven. Warmth, coziness, somehow, as it reminded her of her childhood, on Sundays when her mum prepared a cake, and Caroline waited in front of the oven to look at the cake swelling.

"What is that?"

"Taste it."

She felt something near her mouth and recoiled slightly. "What is that?" she repeated.

"Trust me, Caroline."

"I don't even know your name?" she protested, her slight uneasiness making it sound like a question.

She heard him laugh, "It's Klaus," he answered.

Caroline hummed and bit the inside of her mouth in thought. What was happening was definitely not usual, yet, she could smell what he handed her, and she would be lying if she said it didn't make her mouth water. They were in a professional kitchen; he would not give her something awful to eat right?

She slightly opened her mouth, still not entirely trusting him.

Then, the sugary taste hit her taste buds and she melted, her shoulders lowering. Her back round, she chewed slowly to taste it correctly.

"That is delicious!" she whimpered.

"How does it taste?" he asked, a smile in his voice.

"I need another bite, then."

Klaus complied, returning to stand between her legs, close enough to hear her breathing and her slow chewing.

His other hand was on the countertop, but she just had to spread his fingers to brush her thighs, as if standing between them wasn't painful enough. She smelled like vanilla and strawberry, with a hint of poppycock, and he felt like a voyeur as he looked at her face when she couldn't see him. The light blush on her cheek and neck, the way her lips enveloped the spoon – it was magnificient.

Caroline, oblivious to his ogling, chewed silently for few seconds, enjoying how it excited her taste buds.

"It's really sweet. Sugar. And honey. It's kind of spongy, but in a good and sweet way. Gosh. It's good. But then there is this aftertaste. More bitter. Like, lemon?" She chewed again, trying to guess. "No it's sweeter, a mix between lemon, mandarin and grapefruit, with a little bit of ginger." She grabbed his hand blindly and dipped into the cake herself, and after some fails at actually touching it, she took another bigger bite. "I know. It's yuzu."

Klaus removed her blindfold with a smile. "I am impressed," he said, eyes wide. "Yuzu is not well known, and you really have amazing taste buds."

"Thank you." She self-consciously both smiled and frowned at the bizarre compliment. Still a compliment though, and she takes them all with class. "And what is it?"

"It's a Japanese specialty, a yuzu Castella cake," he took a step back from her, realizing he was really close. He put his hand on his head, in thought "I don't know if I am going to put it on the menu, though."

Silly. It tasted amazing, "you definitely should," she answered, taking another bite of it, "wait what?"

Her mouth full, she looked at him with wide eyes, realizing – "You are the chef!"

He looked at her with a big smile as she clearly became redder, her cheeks darkening and eyes huge. "Guilty."

"Oh my God."

She stood up suddenly, pacing back and forth.

And really, she doesn't quite know why she's reacting this way.

Well, He was the man behind her favorite dishes. Behind the  _freaking_ crème brulee.

"You fooled me." She pointed at him, frowning.

He raised his arms in a defensing manner, even though he couldn't hold his smirk, "well, you never asked, love."

"It's Caroline."

He smirked even wider at her fire, "Caroline."

She felt her cheeks reddening at the way her name rolled out of his tongue, like butter salted caramel.

He'd been so close to her.

She should have known as soon as she entered the kitchen, but Caroline had been so caught up in the moment she forgot to think and just enjoyed the cake her favorite chef fed her. Oh god. Her favorite chef fed her.

And she enjoyed it. Very much so.

"Relax, love."

He grabbed her shoulders, stroking in an attempt to soothe her. She'd been close to starting to ramble like a crazy person, but restrained herself.

Caroline looked at him, relaxing under the circular motion of his thumb on her arm.

Did she feel guilty? Guilty of enjoying it, of how close he'd been? Of how soothing his hands were, and how he could make her moan of delight with a piece of homemade bread?

He was frowning, in concentration – "What?" she asked.

He looked at her lips, and for a second, she thought he might kiss her. What would she do? Avoid it? Or answer?

His thumb brushed her lip, and she closed her eyes unconsciously, as he used his thumb to stroke her lower lip, a piece of cake on her mouth. The gentle caress was too much, and when she opened her eyes, she couldn't tear her gaze away from his concentrated face. "There. Perfect."

She smiled, forgetting for a second that she had a boyfriend, that she shouldn't be here, that she shouldn't have enjoyed this moment, that she shouldn't have wished for his lips on hers when she closed her eyes, as she caressed the corner of his mouth with her thumb to copy the gesture. "There. Perfect."

He smiled, showing his dimples. He hadn't eaten anything.


	2. l'entrée

"Hey" Tyler greeted her, leaving a kiss on the corner of her mouth. She bit the inside of her cheek – not that guilt was eating her, but she still felt like she did something really wrong.

Did they flirt, really?

Caroline gave him a small smile, that's the only thing she could offer right now.

If she stopped biting her tongue, she might go on a rant and admit to Tyler and to herself, that, yes, she did something horrible, that she shouldn't have enjoyed her time with Klaus that much. That it was wrong.

But she had never felt this content in ages – she hated herself for that.

"Hey."

They spent the evening watching TV, not a word exchanged, but he kept drawing circles with his thumb on her shoulder, completely oblivious to how she tensed under his caress.

"Are we," she started, gingerly searching for words, "good together?" she finished and raised her eyes to see him frowning, his hold sagging.

Because it's killing her, because she felt like something's missing, and she had the feeling it's been under her nose for a long time but she's only noticing it now.

"Why are you asking?" he simply answered, his gaze not leaving the TV.

"No reason."

* * *

Writing an S with a tip of the spoon, a trail of green pepper sauce next to the steak –

"Who was  _the hot blonde?_ "

He knew about whom Marcel spoke, strangely - it's not like he was thinking about her just now. So he somehow knew, but still chose to play coy.

"Who?"

"The hot blonde, I mean, that's what Lucien called her. You know, the blonde girl from yesterday? The one he saw following you to the kitchen?"

He huffed dried his hands on his apron, taking advantage of the natural act for a chef to think for two seconds, about who the  _hot blonde actually was_  to him.

"It's nothing."

"You know, you're such an asshole." Marcel crossed his arms, wearing his everlasting smirk. "Not even a smart one."

"I could fire you, you know."

"You won't. I'm your sous-chef. You need me, I am the jewel of your restaurant. The charming part. But it's not about that. I should know you are seeing someone  _without_ Lucien. I see you every day," with a vigorous slap on his shoulder, a hand on his heart, Marcel pouted, "although, I am hurt my man didn't tell me a thing about this new girl."

"It's because nothing is happening, Marcellus."

Marcel cringed, the reminder of what his father used to call him rubbing salt in an old wound.

"Don't call me that," he admonished, a threatening finger near Klaus' face. "And you are such a bad liar. You like to pretend you're this tough Don Juan when you're all sappy romance, flowers and lavender candles stuff," Marcel pointed out, following Klaus around the kitchen. "Klaus, if you don't even try, or only try for a night, you're going to end up alone. A lonely asshole."

"Write that on my tombstone, mate." Klaus wiped his hands on his apron. "Where the fuck is my egg custard?"

* * *

"Hello?" Caroline picked up her phone, an unknown ID flashing on the screen.

"Hi, sweetheart."

Caroline frowned, she would recognize that voice anywhere – and maybe that's something to be worried about. "Klaus?"

After their first encounter in his restaurant, she walked home with him, their hands slightly brushing without touching, a huge smile on her face. Like the end of a date. Except she came home to her real boyfriend.

That's why she recoiled from his lips ready to kiss her, didn't give him her number, and avoided the place since, afraid to have to face him once again.  _Guilt_.

She stopped suddenly in the middle of the street, surprised to hear his voice.

"Yes, I saw you walking by, and wanted to say hello," Klaus responded on the other side of the phone.

Caroline rubbed her temples before looking around her, fearing – or maybe hoping – to see his dimples, stubble, and his face.

"Look inside the diner, sweetheart."

Caroline raised her head to see a restaurant was indeed next to her, 50's spirit emanating from the place; the pink neon flashing, the black and white tiling, the music. From behind the glass a smiley Klaus waved at her, the phone against his ear.

He looked different without his white shirt.

She clearly couldn't escape now, she couldn't run away suddenly, so she waved back with a blush and entered the restaurant. Not quite as fancy as Klaus's restaurant though.

She joined him and took a place in the booth across from him, making sure to keep her head low to dodge his stare.

"You are avoiding me," Klaus finally said.

"No, not at all," Caroline puffed in fake innocence.

"I haven't seen you in the restaurant in a while…"

"Yeah I know. I was busy," Caroline cut him off. "And how did you get my number?"

He hummed, stroking the back of his neck as he lowered his gaze. "You left your number for a reservation," he mumbled.

Thankfully, his head was down, otherwise, he would have seen her smile –  _how cute_  – and she couldn't have that.  _Come on, Caroline, he's not cute, and you're taken, plus, stalking is so not cute._

She wanted to see more of his blush and those  _ridiculous_ dimples, to poke him with his stalker-ish ways, but again, you don't do that with a stranger.

"What are you doing here?" Caroline asked instead, neutral enough, and it's not like Caroline wasn't wondering why a starred chef was sitting here in a cheap, greasy fast food diner, in complete contrast to his delicate cooking and gastronomical cuisine.

Klaus smiled, but before he could answer, a waitress came to their table. "Hey, Klaus!"

Klaus looked up at the blonde waitress, a smile still plastered on his features. "Hello, Lexi." He looked back at Caroline, introducing her with a jerk of his hand. "Caroline, this is Lexi, owner of the place."

Lexi stretched out her hand. "Nice to meet you, Caroline." She smiled brightly, her straight long hair in a high ponytail. "And welcome to Lexi's."

Caroline took her hand with a big smile, "Nice to meet you too."

"So, what would you like to order?" Lexi grinned, half jumping on her feet.

"Well, you are the chef here," Caroline said, looking directly at Klaus with a chuckle. It's the first time she hadn't ordered for herself –  _stop thinking about it, it means nothing, it's not like you hate when people order food for you, I mean, he's a chef, he must know what he's doing._

"Then, we'll take the veggie burger and sweet potato fries."

Lexi noted the order on her pad and left. Caroline smiled at her back and quickly looked out the window, trying to avoid Klaus' gaze. He smiled his own grin at that and put his elbows on the table, inching closer to her. "So, why are you avoiding me, Mrs. Forbes?"

Caroline looked at him with fake innocence, his grey Henley accentuating the blue of his eyes. "What?" she snorted, "I am so not avoiding you. Anyway." Caroline responded way too quickly for her liking. "What brings the infamous chef here?"

Klaus raised his eyebrows at the way she changed the subject. "Their sweet potato fries are the best in New York."

"Wow, high praise coming from a starred chef," Caroline nodded with a smile, "not that I want to inflate your ego."

"Didn't we meet only once before? How do you know how big my ego is, love?"

"It's as big as the room, I am suffocating," she laughed, ignoring his question. "Do the dimples come with it?"

"So, you noticed my dimples, sweetheart?"

Caroline bit her tongue, silencing a huff to herself, "I did," she simply stated, keeping to herself how she imagined licking them. Repeatedly.

Klaus' eyebrow quirked up, intrigued. "You have a dimple too. Just one. When you smile." He raised his hand as if he wanted to point at something on her face, but retracted. "Left cheek."

Caroline grazed her cheek with her thumb and the gesture startled her, because she'd never thought about it, and she wondered for a second, if she had ever seen herself smile in a mirror.

But she looked at herself smiling in the mirror before, right?

"I love eating local," Klaus added, cutting for a second the silence she hadn't even realized was there.

Caroline hated silence, she was  _never_ speechless, but she hadn't grasped the silence between them, which was odd.

"So, what are the two of you are doing here? You finally find a girl, Klaus?" Lexi asked, as she put their plates on the table.

Caroline waved a hand, "Oh, no, I am not his girl."

Lexi looked at Klaus for a second, seeing his lips in a tight line. "Oh, sorry."

Caroline smiled what Lexi thought was a sad smile. "It's okay, do you have barbecue sauce?"

"Sure."

"With a little bit of honey?"

Lexi frowned, amused. "Of course." She turned to Klaus one last time, but his gaze was fixed on the street outside. She left them once again giving a curt nod to Caroline on her way.

"Barbecue and honey?"

Caroline nodded with a smile seeing him grinning at her. "Indeed. Secret recipe."

Lexi came back with the barbecue sauce and honey, Caroline took a little cup to mix both and dipped into it with an orangey fry.

She hummed in delight. It was so different from a regular French fry. They were amazing - sweeter. "This is so good!" Caroline tried to say despite her full mouth.

"Told you." Klaus shrugged. "Your special sauce isn't bad either," he added with a grin.

"Thanks. Coming from a starred chef, it's nice. But -" Caroline took another small cup and poured some barbecue sauce and added honey. "Get your own." She slid the cup to him with a dry smile.

Klaus arched his eyebrows in amusement and dipped his fry in his sauce. "Not really fond of sharing?"

"Not with food. Food is sacred," she answered.

Klaus chuckled at how serious she looked, but he had ideas in mind other than asking about her lack of generosity.

"So", Klaus pulled in her plate, Caroline protesting loudly seeing her food taken away. "Why are you avoiding me?"

"I don't know what you are talking about." Caroline frowned whilst avoiding his gaze.

Klaus hummed. "Funny how your voice is suddenly so high-pitched, love."

"I am not avoiding you." Caroline hissed with a false, low voice. "Now give me back my food."

"You'll have your fries as soon as you tell me why you haven't stepped a foot in my restaurant since we saw each other."

"I can't go back there. Last time I went there I hit a man, I am afraid he's looking for revenge."

Klaus squinted his eyes. "I see," he put his elbows on the table, his chin on his hands, "and what does he look like?" he asked, an amused glint in his eyes that drove Caroline absolutely crazy.

"British. With a huge ego. Maybe he has a glass eye, can't remember."

A little contagious laugh escaped his lips – yes,  _contagious_. And Caroline hated it, how carefree she felt at this exact moment, eating fries with a stranger and just  _enjoying_.

"It's too bad, sweetheart. The Crème brûlée was the main dessert this week. A success."

"How do you know I love crème brulée?" she asks with a frown. "I am starting to think you're some kind of stalker."

She could swear she saw a little blush on his cheek. Her heart made a flip, and she couldn't keep her smile to herself.

"You ordered one. The day we met."

Klaus remembered how crazy he must have sounded when he asked Lucien, the maître d', what she had ordered and what her phone number was, threatening to fire him if he said one single word to anyone. Lucien apparently hadn't cared, since he gossiped with Marcel. He seriously needed to fire them both.

"So, you really are a stalker."

He blushed again, with a hint of dimples.

He peered at his watch, "Can I show you something?"

 _Can I stay a little longer with you?_ The double meaning lay in his question - in his eyes and tone. She perhaps didn't catch it, and he hoped that was the case. He had mastered hiding behind a façade, cold and emotionless. He was afraid she had managed to break through.

Caroline hesitated. She should say no. She should leave.

"Sure."

She threw away everything  _she should do_. She'd rather take a step forward than stay immobile.

It was behind his restaurant, a truck was waiting for him and dozens of pallets next to the door, filled with yellow flowers.

Caroline helped him, taking them inside, smelling the flowers when she could.

"What are they?"

"Acacia," he replied, putting down the last pallet. She was glad the kitchen was empty, Caroline thought as she looked around her, she felt somewhat intruding in this spotless and chromed room. It felt different than the last time she was there.

"I am going to make beignets. To fry them."

"Flowers?"

With a dexterity and rapidity, he grabbed a bowl; mixed flour, milk. "Can you give me a hand with that? I need delicate hands."

"Do you say that to all the girls?"

"Only the one who mixes barbecue sauce and honey," he replied, "and who has a dimple on her left cheek."

Caroline felt herself burn, her cheeks reddening. She grabbed the flowers to wash them as he asked, hoping she would cool down.

When she finished washing a branch, he grabbed it, bumping into her in the process –  _Can I stay close to you?_  But Caroline didn't think about that, she didn't hear the question in his gesture, his closeness. She thought about what her teacher told her -  _if he bothers you, maybe it's because he likes you_.

She shook herself out of it. That was stupid.

Klaus dipped the flowers in the mix and put them in the fryer. After a minute, he placed the fried flowers on a plate, added some icing sugar, "Voila!" Klaus handed her a bloom. "Go ahead," he said, unable to detach his eyes from her lips.

It was even worse when she bit into the flower, some sugar on her lips. He took a step forward. Unconsciously, like a bee attracted to pollen, the white powder on her lips tempting.

And she waited, immobile, for something inevitable. It was wrong - so wrong, but it felt so good. Did she think about his tongue on her lip? His mouth on hers? The ambiance seducing her, heating her cheeks, begging her to take  _the_ step to bring them together.

But then it fell. Like a bad omen, salt on the table, a broken glass.

"Hey Tyler," Caroline answered her phone, listened. "Yeah sure. Bye, love you."

She avoided Klaus' look and stared at her feet, noticing some sugar on one heel,  _reminding her._

"It was my boyfriend," she added. And she said it because she needed to. Because she needed to remind herself.

There was a second during which Klaus' face froze, stunned, his legs buckling. He lowered his eyes because he absolutely didn't want her to see the disappointment in them. That feeling when you've already seen yourself with a chocolate pie for dessert, but this pie already belonged to someone else – Caroline is not a chocolate pie though, which is even more harmful, because he can bake a fucking pie anytime.  _Shut up, Klaus_.

"Lucky guy."

Caroline is not a pie, she's this blonde, blue-eyed, beautiful girl who hit him right in the nose. Maybe his brain has been touched too, because lately, everything has been about  _her_.

_What're her favorite flowers? Her favorite dish?_

He can hear Marcel's voice -  _you're a stupid lovesick fool_.

And the girl was taken.

"Yeah, he is," Caroline tried to laugh. and Klaus didn't decipher the hint of irony right there in her fake smirk.

* * *

Strangely, it wasn't natural when she pressed the key in the lock; even the muscle memory had faded, it seemed. She slipped the key into the lock and it wasn't a sound she recognized, she had forgotten that the door creaked.

The dust flew when she opened the door, and there was a stale smell, but otherwise nothing .

She dropped the keys in the little pot near the door and left her coat on a hook beside it. A habit, oddly, she also did that at Tyler's.

But it was the little brown bag she had in her hand which was a stain inher dusty routine; a brown bag, greasy stains in the bottom and powdered sugar on the edge, from which emitted a slightly sweet, floral odor.

There's only one place she wanted to eat his.

She took off her shoes and went to the large window – a bit dirty – opened it and slipped out, one leg after the other. She sat down on the third step of the fire escape.

There was something reassuring in the habit, as much as it was frightening. For it's in the monotony that the change hides away ; she forgets to move forward, to open her eyes to witness deviations around her.

Coldness, lack of flames, sparks. It may be cliché, but Caroline is an optimist, a lover of love, and she forgot the taste of the latter.

So used to being with him that she forgot what it was to be in love with him. To forget herself. The  _uncontrollable_. She found herself in his arms almost every night, but she had forgotten the heat of the embrace. She kissed him so much that she forgot the pressure.

Nothing.

Just a habit, a weary fullness.

 _Tyler_.

Did she still love him?Or was she just afraid of being alone?

She's used to being with him, she's forgotten herself. How to be with herself.

And there was the greasy brown bag in her hand.  _Klaus._

Why did it have to be so difficult? She felt awful, guilt ate at her, but not enough to make the tremors in her body disappear. The heat. The  _uncontrollable_.

She couldn't bear the thought of being with Tyler when she had another in mind.

She needed to tell him, tell him that he was an amazing man, that she might still love him but she wasn't in love with the love they had. She didn't feel anything.

But he was kind, he kissed her every morning with a smile, made her coffee and ran baths for her, brought flowers when he could and he had warm arms on her shoulders.  _A real dickhead, right?_

Then why?

Maybe because she can make this list, with her eyes closed: she can list everything great about Tyler, or even his flaws. His habits, that became  _their_ habits. There were four bouquets of red roses, two silver necklaces, probably more than a thousand kisses, more than a hundred heated moments.

But there was a blank part in the list.

What movies, mothers, books tell you about - the butterflies, the time-stopping gaze, the mind-quaking kiss, the sensuality and the unpredictable nature of it all hat makes you wonder what will happen tomorrow, that makes you excited about that said  _tomorrow_. And perhaps she wanted to live with this hint of fear at the idea of losing it all; maybe it was stupid, but it was more than  _nothing._ Without fear, the little girl wouldn't fight with the wolf.

And there was icing sugar on her shoe, signing the words she was about to say to Tyler.

* * *

The greasy brown bag was next to her on the stairs, and for the first time, she looked above the buildings to see the sun rise, scattering colors on the windows of the tall edifices,her lack of sleep and red eyes blurring the palette.

She had cried minutes after the door closed behind her, but never during. She had cried because she  _loved_ Tyler, but also because she could feel a weight inside lifting. She had hoped to be happy with him, to have the life she dreamed of, but reality was a pale mirror.

She had a great job, great friends, and yet she stayed hidden behind a fantasy that wasn't really hers anymore. She never took a second to think about herself and what she wanted or what was for her in this world.

"Can I help you miss?"

A gravelly voice interrupted her thoughts, and she tried to give a smile to the man in front of her. "I am waiting for Klaus," she answered in a breath.

He gave her a smile, a devious one. "You must be Caroline."

"I – " she started, frowning, "I am."

"Klaus always talks about you."

"He does?" Caroline half-asked, half-wondered why it made her heart flip.

"Come on, he must be sleeping in his office." She grabbed the brown bag and followed him while he fastened his apron, gliding the unlit cigarette behind his ear. "I'm Marcel by the way."

She nodded, "Nice to meet you," waving away her yawn.

Marcel lowered his hand after opening a door to the kitchen with a welcoming and exaggerated gesture.

She smiled at the picture - Klaus in a deep slumber, his head on his desk, a light snore coming from him. Caroline had to restrain a laugh, and considered just leaving the brown greasy bag on the table with a little note " _Thanks, but I had to give them back to you."_

The fried flowers she couldn't eat without feeling the guilt squeezing her throat shut. It felt much more than just take-away food. It  _was_  flowers after all.

She put the bag down the moment Klaus woke up with a start. He rubbed his eyes as Caroline stayed immobile, hoping she could pass as a statue, maybe.

"Caroline?" he mumbled sleepily, "what are you doing here?"

"I just wanted to give you the acacia beignets back."

Klaus ran his hand through his hair, in an effort to wake up and understand, "Why?"

"I – "

He could see there was something she needed to say, and maybe it was his tiredness, or maybe it was this stupid anger he still felt because the girl in front of him was taken. "Why are you really here, Caroline?"

"I – "she stuttered again, lost for words after being caught in the headlights by a half-asleep man. "I broke up with Tyler," she simply answered.

He smiled, and that made her mad.

"And I was thinking, while I was looking at the sputtering neon light of the U in Burger King because I needed to drown my feelings  _somewhere_ and their ice creams are pure fat and I needed fat – "Caroline said in one breath, with more resentment than she intended, "and I was thinking, that I could go all 'love declaration' to you, but – "

"But?"

Caroline shouted, "I don't know you!" hands in the air as if the truth of her statement floated them up.

Klaus shrugged, "We can learn more about each other."

"But – but," Caroline started, walking in his office to order her thoughts, "do you realize? I was ready to shout sappy words out-loud to you? What am I? Some princess in a fairytale? I'm  _not_. It's real life here. And, and – " she stopped to rub her face. She was tired, she had a lot on her mind, and she just remembered she left her favorite mug at Tyler's place. And maybe she also wanted to avoid his gaze, because she was afraid she might get lost in it. "I was ready to look like a fool because I don't know you but, hey! You're an attractive man that made me feel something. You're here and  _fuck_ , I feel like a teenager again, I smile, I laugh, I get hot, then cold."

It was his time turn get mad, taking a step towards her. "Is that so bad?"

"Yes!" Caroline retreated, not trusting herself if he came close. "Because, you know, I want to look at myself in the mirror and see the dimple when I smile, you know? And that's when I realized, have I ever truly been  _alone_?"

The silence laid thick in the air. How many nights did she need, sitting on her staircase, to be able to say that she finally  _took a break_?

"I don't know what I'm doing. I don't even know what happened between us. Or if there is an us, and why would there be one?"

She paused, breathing, looking at him in the eyes for the first time and noting his expression. Hurt maybe, shock also, weariness.

"What the fuck am I doing now?" she breathed out with a nervous smile.

"It does not have to be so complicated Caroline, we can just  _try_."

"I need time. I'm sorry, Klaus. I didn't break up with Tyler for you." She looked at him, at his dropping eyes, "But I did do it  _because_  of you. I just realized that there was something missing. And you helped with that! But – "

"The next time you want some attractive man to make you feel something, to make you  _realize things_ , make sure the guy is not falling in love with you." Klaus said, his jaw tight, before he stormed away, leaving.

 


	3. le plat

The mother still has her sunglasses on, a cup of coffee in her hand and her son next to her, playing on his phone. "He's learning French. So the theme will be Paris."

How original.

"I want the Eiffel Tower, made with macarons. He loves macarons."

Macarons, Caroline writes. Eiffel.

"We want to have a chef for his party to make little cakes with the kids. Gluten-free, of course." She takes a sip of her coffee and Caroline wonders if she's even looking at her. "Not an actor. A real chef. French, preferably."

Caroline has to note down every request for Elias — an angel, according to his mother, but he's already stuck his tongue out at least twice. She's already planning everything in her head regardless, because it's good money and a good distraction.

"Of course," Caroline tosses out, even if her comments are useless as her client obviously doesn't care.

"I want an accordion, like in Amelie, you know the movie?"

"Yes -"

"I want mimes!" she interrupts, "it could be fun, right Elias?"

He's too busy killing zombies to bother responding.

"He's ecstatic."

* * *

"Caroline?" She hears Katherine calling for her.

"I'm outside," Caroline answers, dipping a mozzarella stick in a little cup full of sauce.

She sees Katherine climbing in the window; her feet, despite her red stilettos, en pointe like a ballerina, and she, still gracefully, sits down next to her on the metallic stairs.

Caroline has no stilettos, no makeup on, was just getting some fresh air — with her notebook, of course.

"Hello sunshine," Katherine greets her, "brought you coffee."

"I hope there's a ton of sugar in it."

"I got the one with cream, caramel, and its name is diabetes."

"My favorite."

Katherine sits on the staircase next to her with a disgusted expression. Caroline doesn't care, she takes a sip of her coffee and moans - pure sugar in a cup. Katherine's coffee is black, without cream or sugar, and really, it's not surprising. What kind of girl are you according to your favorite drink in Starbucks - she'd taken a test once.

"Are you seriously considering eating mozzarella sticks with your coffee?"

"Yes I am."

"Gee, Caroline, dating a chef clearly didn't help you."

"I didn't date him," Caroline defends herself - or tries to.

"You know what I mean. Anyway, what are you doing?"

Katherine is the best when you need salt on an old wound - part of her charm, maybe.

"Watching people," Caroline answers simply, sipping on her glass of red wine - a gift from Tyler for their 2nd anniversary. Might as well enjoy it for the two months without him. "The building across the street," she clarifies.

She's been sitting on the fire escape, imagining all the possible romantic scenarios for the inhabitants of the building across from her. Perhaps she shouldn't imagine all these love stories, but Caroline is a helpless romantic.

A girl is leaning on her window, waiting for her beau. A couple is kissing. There are no sad stories in the building next door, Caroline decides. The world is shitty enough, it can have one happy building in this whole town.

Instead of thinking about Elias, his rude mom, or a certain guy.

"Interesting," the brunette says, stealing a mozzarella stick. "Are you ok, Caroline?"

She doesn't take a second to answer. "Yes, I am."

She enumerated everything she had done in the last two months: work harder than she'd ever worked before, planning parties and events; but she also came home every night to an empty flat. It was a strange feeling. Truth be told, she liked it. She could wander around in panties eating peanut butter from the jar while Beyoncé was on. It was carefree, almost dumb, but it felt good. She could choose what she wanted to watch, to eat. She rearranged her furniture. She even got herself a cat. Polka the Cat.

Most importantly, she learned how to live alone, a discovery, an adventure almost, and she'd noticed the dimple on her cheek. She'd looked at herself smiling in the mirror, and had noticed it. It maybe hasn't been the huge revelation she'd been expecting, but she'd laughed, it had felt good.

"I am really good, actually," she emphasizes. "I have a lot of work. And I made crème brûlée today," Caroline says proudly, "and it wasn't even disgusting. The caramel was too soft though."

"I'm glad you're fine, Care. But what are you going to do now?"

"About what?"

"About Klaus."

"What Klaus?"

"There's some things left unsaid, right?"

"I said everything I had to say. And he did too." There's a bit of venom, right here, she's trying to brush it off, convincing herself that she's fine alone but -

And that's the whole problem, this 3 letter word like a wave shattering the sand castle she's built around her.

"Oh please. Listen. I am all for self-discovery. Looking at yourself in the mirror without makeup on for 10 minutes straight. But I can't let you miss out on something that could be great."

Could is such a stabbing word, as if she hadn't imagined what could have been when she was with him. Going head first into something was great when she was 17, when she met Tyler, when she wore cheerleader uniform and kissed the quarterbacks under the bleachers.

"Sometimes, you learn more about yourself when you're with someone, you know? and there's nothing wrong with it."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Come on, don't pretend you haven't thought about him."

"Of course I have, but it was a simple flirtation that happened at the wrong moment." She was with Tyler, they were stuck in a routine, and Klaus had been here, breaking the pattern. It had felt good, but still, it was wrong.

"And all those sweet words he said to you."

"Yeah, that's the thing. I've always been the head-first kind of girl, and he - "

"He just swept you off your feet and took your place on the podium."

"That he did. A real romcom cliche." Caroline says, but it's not true. If anything, his words were painful. She tries to take them lightly, like they weren't a slap on her face, simply because she won't allow herself to.

Katherine steals a mozzarella stick from her and points at another window in the building next door.

* * *

Klaus looks at the hot water coloring, trying to listen. Really, he is trying. But somehow the leaves in the little tea bag are more entertaining than Rebekah's day.

"Klaus!" she snaps a finger close to his face making him focus on her entirely.

"What were you saying?"

"I said I was dating Marcel to see if you'd react but it didn't work."

Klaus just hums. It's not like they hadn't dated before, even if they'd tried to keep it hidden from him.

"What is up with you today? I swear I should have gone out with Elijah. Or worse. Kol. But day drinking is not my thing."

He doesn't want to talk about it, in fact he doesn't want to talk at all. "Nothing."

Rebekah leans on the table and grabs what's inside Klaus' bag, " You're still obsessed with this?" She unfolds the newspaper and sees a column outlined with angry red marker.

"The Originals is not that original," Klaus mutters, "even the title is bad."

"This is just one bad review among the many praises you've received."

Klaus raises his eyebrows because it's uncharacteristic of her to dismiss this kind of thing. If it would have been about her, she would have slaughtered the person who wrote it. In fact, he normally would have done that too.

But there's some indifference in everything he does lately.

"- you could try shaking things up a bit. Change the menu."

He isn't listening. Klaus is not fond of change. And the only time he's tried it, it hasn't worked that well.

The last and only time he'd dared try something else, he couldn't cope and just ran away, spitting words only to hurt.

Is that guilt he can taste in his mouth? Can tea have the taste of guilt?

" - since that girl, you've been brooding like a teenager."

"I don't want to talk about it." And how is she even aware of it? He never talks about it to his siblings, better cut off a limb than talk about his love life to Kol or Rebekah. But he's not surprised when he thinks about it, Marcel must have told her.

"You'll have to, eventually, to move on. I actually wanted to hire her for my party but I didn't, for you."

"Please. That's not the real reason. Could you pass the reins to plan your own party?"

"Probably not."

She reminds him of Caroline in a lot of ways, from her blond hair to the way she keeps her chin up. Perhaps she's right, and you tend to listen people who hold their heads high. He could make some changes, try to think about something else — forget the review, and her. Klaus is used to make things work, and he finds himself in front of a bad gear and he needs to fix it.

* * *

There are at least 20 people waiting on the street in line. It makes Caroline stop. Actually, it's not the real reason she stops to look at this building.

Caroline likes to believe in signs. She often thinks that if she sees two swans in Central Park, then today is going to be a good day. If she sees two red cars next to each other, it's going to be a busy one. If beignets, fries and stupid dimples tell her to run, she does. She likes signs, coincidences, they make her feel like there's something helping you, nudging your arm and guiding your decisions. It makes them easier.

But fate is cruel, and sometimes, it's just here to slap you in the face.

Caroline stops in the middle of the street because there's a sign right here.

She squeezes the handle of her bag, hoping maybe it could bring her somewhere else.

There are a lot of people waiting, talking energetically.

And she has a meeting next door, the next door down from The Originals.

So she looks at all the letters, remembers when she was there, when she visited the kitchen. It might as well be fate slapping her in the face.

She remembers the crème brûlée.

She hasn't allowed herself to go back here. She hasn't allowed herself a lot of things these past few months. She hasn't allowed herself to feel sad, to be heartbroken, to be pissed because of what he said. All in the name of this need to be alone and self-discovery.

She hasn't admitted to herself that she's felt lonely, sad and angry.

Yes, she smiled in the mirror and saw the little dimple, but fuck what an asshole to just disappear after saying that.

What a stupid dimpled asshole.

What a stupid smiling blonde.

And there's the crowd waiting — he's successful, and deep down, she almost wishes he wasn't, because it means he's doing fine without her. That's selfish but she can't help it. She wants him to be broken-hearted because she hasn't allowed herself to be.

She would love to barge in his restaurant to point at him and his feelings, to yell that he shouldn't have run away. He shouldn't have made it about himself, and if he'd just given her the time.

Oh - she took the time and now she wants to barge in, yell at him, perhaps slap him or kiss him.

She wants to barge into his restaurant with bravado and just smile and tell him that yes, she's happy now, that she wants to try this and oh god she wants his fucking crème brûlée but what would that make her?

So she just turns on her heel and goes to the door right next to his restaurant.

* * *

"What is she doing?" Lucien asks, looking at the blonde through the glass doors. "Looking for Klaus?"

"I have no idea."

"Should we tell him?"

Marcel smiles, it's not that he doesn't love bugging his boss and friend, but he wants what's best for him, and maybe she is. "Allow me."

* * *

"You look pathetic."

Klaus takes a drag of his cigarette, sitting on the stairs behind the restaurant. It smells like smoke, dirt and dusty food, but he likes it here only because the walls are so tall he can't even see behind it.

"Thanks," Klaus whispers back.

"This is a bad habit," says Marcel, grabbing Klaus' cigarette before taking a puff and killing it on the ground. "Kills your taste buds you know."

"I am aware."

"What's making you all moody on this fine day?" his sous-chef looks at the grey sky, threatening to rain sometime soon.

Klaus just shrugs, dismissing whatever discussion Marcel was hoping for.

"Right. By the way, your blonde friend was here."

And Klaus takes another cigarette, because he feels his hands shaking suddenly. "Who?" he lies, as if he doesn't know who Marcel is talking about — when it's more a question of wanting to know.

"Your almost, Mikaelson." He looks at him with a sad smile, and Klaus hates it. "I mean, not in here, but she just stood there, looking at the front door for quite some time."

"And?" Klaus shrugs again, trying to convey a fake detachment. He's convinced himself already that he didn't stay a bit too often at Lexi's only to see if she would walk by.

She had, twice, and it had been a feat to stay seated. But he had.

"You're a good liar. But not when I know you're lying."

Klaus takes a drag, to clear his thoughts with smoke, maybe. "We're not together, so it doesn't matter."

"You should call her and talk."

"Last time I did, I made a fool of myself and blurted out nonsense."

Marcel grabs his cigarette again and takes a drag, "Like how you were falling for her?"

Klaus bites his cheek. He doesn't know if it was a mistake, really, he did it because he'd wanted to hurt her, as bad as it sounds, because she didn't feel the same and he'd wanted her to feel guilty. But he'd also said it because it was true. He was falling in love with her. The way she bit into life, how she took her time to taste things and enjoy. She's his opposite in a lot of ways.

"Maybe you should talk to her about that."

* * *

He would love to say that he's been so busy he hasn't take the time to call her, but it's a lie. He's busy, the restaurant is popular, but he's also incapable of typing the 7 numbers to call her. Klaus doesn't know if he wants to, he doesn't even know what to say. Maybe he should apologize, but he knows himself, he's not sure he can do this.

But still, he writes on a post-it: Caroline; and sticks it to his computer screen, because he'll have to do it eventually.

Not right now. Tomorrow, maybe.

* * *

Caroline has a long checklist, but only half of it is done — only because Rich Mom keeps adding things to it.

"Wouldn't it be nice to have a horse? or chicks? Elias would love chicks!"

So she had to install a cage for a dozen yellow chicks.

She bangs her head on her homemade desk — a stack of cardboard in a small closet in the place she's rented for Elias' party, listening to 12 little chicks squealing. Cute, but loud. But also too early, she's received them 2 weeks early, and Caroline believes she'll soon have a dozen chickens running around instead of adorable chicks.

And of course, she has to walk by the restaurant everyday to get here. She's backtracked twice, hoping he would be there.

It's stupid.

* * *

"Did he call her?"

"No."

"So that's why we're planning this?"

"Yes."

Lucien is looking at his watch, counting the seconds, while Marcel is keeping his eyes open on the sidewalk, waiting for stilettos, long legs and a blonde head — he'll never say this out loud, especially not to Klaus or Rebekah.

"7:02," Lucien says.

"She'll be here soon."

"7:03."

The stilettos are red and the hair's tied back, but it's her. "There she is. Always on time."

They look at the blonde walking down the street determinedly. Sometimes she stops and stares for a second, but she always keeps walking.

"So she goes out every day, approximately at 7 p.m.."

"Yes," says Marcel, thoughtful, "now we just need to bring Klaus out here too."

* * *

"It's pissing down," he mumbles, "what did I have to see?" Klaus is drenched from heavy rain of New York. "Bloody hell, the lights are fine!"

Lucien had talked about a problem with the light, it's the Original, now, he'd said, and almost pushed Klaus outside. But in the end, the lights are fine, and he's just wet.

"What if they kiss under the rain?" Lucien says, "it could be romantic. Like in the Notebook."

"It's already past 7," Marcel ignores him. "Maybe she took a cab."

"He's coming back, should I lock the door?"

Klaus finds himself banging on the locked door, screaming at Marcel and Lucien — who are making excuses — as he shouts threats and imaginative ways to kill them.

"Klaus?"

He stops banging at the voice. He hasn't heard this one in a long time. He tries to steady himself, slicking his wet hair back, because he also hasn't said her name in a long time — he's been avoiding it, really — and he needs to compose himself before he does so. "Caroline?"

Klaus can't help himself. He looks at her, from her toes to her head. She has a green umbrella, and he could be poetic about it, but right now, what he needs is a shelter and to clear his thoughts.

She brings her umbrella higher, inviting him to slide next to her. He's careful not to wet her, like she's some pristine artifact who shouldn't be stained — or a gremlin.

"Hi," she simply says, and he almost hadn't remembered how cheerful her voice sounds.

"Hi."

Caroline wonders how she can talk at all, how she can pretend, even make herself believe that it's just some random discussion. "How are you?"

She has a lot of things she wants to say. She's angry at him. But what dawns on her is how much she's missed him, and that's scary.

"A bit wet," he gives her a little laugh. It's probably fake, but it's the best he can give her.

"I can see that."

It's almost suffocating under the umbrella, maybe because of everything they mean to say but can't bring themselves to.

"And you?" Klaus suddenly says.

"Working a lot. Your restaurant is successful. I've seen a lot of people."

"Yes. It's busy. Which is good, considering."

Oh, so he'll be the first to talk about it. It surprises her, but maybe she should stop being that way when it comes to him. "Considering," she repeats.

She wants to yell. You didn't have to say all those things to me, I didn't deserve any of it. But there's this drop, gliding down onto his lips, and for a second she's mesmerized. She also realizes that even if he was a stepping stone in her love life — because he was really — she'd never even kissed him.

Not that she wants to. She has things to say.

Klaus wants to yell too. He doesn't know if he wants to say sorry. He'd said what he said, he hadn't lied, but the reasons behind it hadn't been good. He wants to ask too, if she would have given him a chance. If he'd given her time, like she asked, would she have agreed to go on a date with him?

And all of this is too much for one umbrella, "I better go," and "I should get going," they both say.

They both try to give a smile, a fake one, maybe, and they go on their way.

 


End file.
